


It's Always Been Us

by lifeincantos



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Motel California, minor warnings for mentions of canon suicide/violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 07:18:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/877113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeincantos/pseuds/lifeincantos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their world is crumbling into unrecognizable shards as Scott continues to fall apart. All Stiles can do is hold him together and remind him that he never has been and never will be alone.</p><p>[ Episode tag- Motel California ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Always Been Us

It takes forty seven minutes for the fire to fade, and in that time none of them move. In the back of his mind, Stiles thinks that the time is either too long or too short, but given the fact that he’s just spent the better part of the day rescuing hypnotized werewolves from themselves he decides not to question it. If the supernatural is going to do something to help them for once then that’s one gift horse whose mouth is safe from his prying eyes.

There are a lot of sensations to deal with. The heat from the inferno not twenty feet away, Lydia’s weight on his back and leg, the sharpness of the night air- but the most important is beneath him. His arms are around Scott and his chin is pressed against his shoulder, and gasoline is rubbing off on Stiles’ clothing and skin. He ignores that- as long as they stay far away from the flames that doesn’t matter. 

What matters is that Scott can’t stop shaking.

It’s a weird dichotomy- Scott’s form is stretched taut like one giant rubber band but that doesn’t stop every inch of him from vibrating. Not like an asthma attack, not even like the panic from months (was it only months?) before. It’s like his best friend is literally stretched so tight and thin that he’s unraveling, frayed edges almost too much for Stiles to hold together.

But that’s exactly what he attempts to do. He ignores everything else (even the vague, misplaced thought that wow Lydia Martin literally just saved my freaking life) as he clings to Scott. Every muscle strains under his flesh with the need to wrap the other boy up in whatever it takes to separate him from the evil that stalked them that night.

The evil that might still be poisoning him. Because even though Stiles is well aware that something distinctly not right had infected his more than human peers, he was haunted by the look in Scott’s eyes. Clear and twisted and strangely, wildly rational. A century’s worth of pain had torn apart his gaze, weighed down every limb, cracked his bones and tangled in his lungs.

Scott had been falling apart right in front of him, and Stiles could only watch in abject horror as their world crumbled into unrecognizable shards. There was truth in his brother’s face- magnified, perhaps, driven to the extreme; but for the first time in a long time Stiles could see just how much Scott was pushing himself. He could see the lip of the ravine he was poised on, and even though they were away from the fire Stiles wasn’t so sure that he could save Scott from stepping forward.

The roar behind them dims. He feels Lydia shift, her hand curling against his shoulder. She leans against his cheek and whispers in his ear, “Stiles?" Her voice is a little shaky but in a perfectly understandable way. He nods towards Allison whom he can’t see but assumes needs a hand.

"I got this," he tells her. Lydia hesitates, torn. Stiles taps his head against her cheek in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture of comfort and reassurance until she picks herself up and stumbles over to where Allison hit the ground to avoid the flames. Later he’ll convene with them, compare notes, gauge how they were. But right now he’s still wholly consumed with Scott.

As soon as he knows he’ll be heard, Stiles shifts and bends towards Scott. It stokes his worry that he hasn’t moved, not even when the two people on top of him have. It’s like he can’t, like if he does something terrible will happen. Or maybe that’s just Stiles projecting. 

"Scott," he murmurs. Scott doesn’t reply. Stiles bites his lip before trying again. “Hey, Scott."

The tremors cease for a moment, then increase until Stiles is literally holding Scott together, his arms around his body and his cheek pressed against the back of his head. He’s whispering nonsensical words of comfort; or, rather, words that would have been nonsensical if it hadn’t been them. The boys who’d done this before, who’d faced down death and loss long before the supernatural had invaded their lives. 

"I’m here, okay? I’m here, it’s over. I’m not going anywhere." 

"-It’s not."

Scott’s voice cracks, lost to everything but Stiles’ vigilant hearing. He’s still unraveling, quickly. Stiles holds on tighter. 

"It is. It is, I promise, okay? I- I promise." He’s not sure if he’s in the position to make that promise, but this is for Scott. This has to be for Scott, the person that’s made up an entire half of his family in the last few years. This person trying his damn hardest to hold everyone together while he falls apart himself. Even if Stiles isn’t capable of it now, he will be. He’ll do it for Scott.

"But- there’s still- there’s still so much-…"

Stiles waits until Scott’s voice peters out, afraid to interrupt him. “I know. I know that, but whatever we have to do, we’ll do it together. No more just you. It’s us, it’s always been us."

Scott is silent for a few beats, then he shifts. Not monumentally so, just enough for Stiles to see his profile. Stiles then adjusts accordingly, still holding onto Scott but positions himself so that he can see all of his best friend’s face. 

He feels himself die a little inside when he realizes that Scott still looks shattered.

The effort it takes to speak is written in every line of Scott’s face. “You might get-"

This time Stiles doesn’t hesitate in sending him a steely glare and intercepting his words. “If you pull that martyr crap on me, I’m going to throw you into that fire. And you’ll never have seen Star Wars. Do you really want that in your obituary?"

It takes a couple of seconds, but like a miracle on earth the next sound to break the silence of their bubble is Scott’s laughter. Tired, but more whole than anything that’s come out of his mouth since they found him with the road flare. Stiles grins, watery yet sure.

"You can hear my heartbeat with those wolfy ears of yours," he says, mimicking an authority he’s picked up from his dad- gentle, confident, undeniable. “You know that I’m alive. And you’re alive. We’re both alive and it’s gonna stay like that until this whole thing plays out and beyond."

He notices that Scott’s shaking has dimmed, a vestige of the evening rather than his body trying to rebel against life itself. Stiles still can’t let go, though, even though he knows that there are still things to do. They’ll have to wash the gasoline off, figure out where they’re going to sleep, round up Boyd and Isaac, check in with Lydia and Allison. 

But that will wait. It will wait until Stiles is confident that they can both stand and walk, even if it means leaning on each other.


End file.
